


Seashells and Roses

by JeyneWesterling



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mentions of canon character death, brief misogynistic language/implied slut shaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:51:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeyneWesterling/pseuds/JeyneWesterling
Summary: A collection of unrelated Jeyne/Margaery drabbles





	

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Jeyne and her family are sent to King's Landing after Robb's death. I haven't read the books in a while so I'm not sure how the timelines would match up but just go with it.

  
The girl folds in on herself as she and her companions are led towards the Keep, tucking her arms around her waist in a self protective motion. But any attempt to render herself invisible is futile; those milling around in the yard are already muttering phrases like ‘ _traitor_ ’ - and worse- at her passing entourage.   
  
“Jeyne Westerling,” Elinor reports to Margaery, “Robb Stark’s bride. The one he broke his wedding pact for.”  
  
 _The one he died for_. Margaery watches her, no less curious than the others (though she suspects less disparaging- she hears a whisper of _wolf’s bitch_ which makes her skin prickle).   
  
Jeyne is a pretty girl, though not enough to impress her keen-eyed critics. Margaery can see the scepticism in a few gazes at the thought that this girl caused the fall of the North: plain and timid in torn clothes, bent head casting hair over her bruised face.   
  
But Margaery sees the way her fists clench at the fabric of her dress, the set of her shoulders, the briefest of bitter glares she levels at her mother’s back.  
  
………….  
  
Jeyne is reading in the Red Keep’s library when she feels a figure settle down next to her. Or more accurately, she is staring blankly at the same page she’s had open for the last ten minutes. The week she’s spent here in King’s Landing has been comprised of doing much the same. Reading used to calm her, before. Nowadays she feels too lethargic at best, at worst finds the words blurring dangerously on the page.  
  
She looks up to discover the identity of her new companion, and finds herself face to face with Queen Margaery.  
  
“Good book?”  
  
She nods, too startled at the attention to speak for a moment.  
  
Margaery smiles indulgently. Then, softer, “I’m sorry for your loss, my lady.”  
  
Few people here have bothered to offer such condolences, regarding Robb’s death as deserved, a fitting end for a traitor. Nevertheless, Margaery is not the first. Jeyne may be a prisoner in all but name, but officially the Westerlings have been pardoned; as such she is afforded courtesies by those members of the court most concerned with propriety. It doesn’t feel so empty this time, though.   
  
“T-thank you, Your Grace,” she finds her voice. She gets another smile in response.   
  
She grapples for something else to say, but comes up short. Her hands fidget stupidly over her book.  
  
Though it’s the first time they’ve spoken, the young queen has caught her attention before. After only a week in King’s Landing Jeyne has already come to distrust the beguiling smiles and cloying charms of its residents; it doesn’t help that her mother echoes them almost perfectly. But something about the stubborn line of Margaery’s mouth when some hedge knight whispers too loudly, or levels a glare at Jeyne in her presence, makes her softness seem more sincere.   
  
So when she rests a hand over Jeyne’s still fidgeting one, Jeyne turns her palm over and silently grasps onto it.


End file.
